


The Prisoner

by Pale (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Pale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over and Remus Lupin returns to a strange new world. At Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall struggles with the threat of the loss of magic while the castle is in a severe state of disrepair. Remus is traumatized after his stay at a prison camp for werewolves and haunted by dreams of a mysterious woman. Severus Snape is hiding in the dungeons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much gratitude to my wonderful beta, [kelly_chambliss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/pseuds/kelly_chambliss). All remaining mistakes are my own.

_Darkness. Darkness everywhere. Not a single shaft of light betrays a crack in the door or a curtain barely closed. If there even is a door or a window; Remus can't be sure about that. There are rumours about prison cells deep within the Dover cliffs, small caves that can only be entered with the help of a Portkey. Remus can't smell the sea; he doesn't hear the sound of waves. His own heavy breathing is the only sound he can hear and the smell of his blood overpowers every other possible smell. But however deep down below the surface of the earth they put him, they can't lock out his one true mistress. Their power is nothing in comparison with that of the moon._

He can still feel her pull; the wolf is still with him. Barely himself again, Remus doesn't know whether his pain is due to the change alone or if they have tortured him. It doesn't matter. Sleeping is all that matters now, sleeping and regenerating enough to be able to face them as a man.

He can sense her the moment he wakes. She can't have been there before; Remus would have noticed that scent in any circumstance. Fear. Fear combined with the distinct scent of woman. The wolf growls inside him, and Remus thanks every deity he's ever heard of that she hasn't been there before. He raises his hand and reaches into the darkness.

* * *

  
Hogwarts was a giant at the horizon, a stone ogre that threatened with walls, ceilings, floors, and still more walls. In the wan light of the February sun it looked grey and sick, and, for a mere second, the thought amused Remus that it might throw up on the lawn, ridding itself of the too-fat meals of the past, secrets still dripping with grease, lumps of flesh badly chewed. Remus wrapped his coat tighter around him. The feeling of guilt bit worse than the cold. He should have known better than harbouring such thoughts.

Hogwarts had been his haven. He had found relative freedom within its walls and a modicum of peace. He had found friends here. He had found a home. He should never forget that.

Remus told himself all this in the same fashion in which a religious man might say his prayers. The words dropped from his lips as a monotonous row of beads, crystallizing in the winter air before evaporating into nothing.

Hogwarts was his haven still. He still had a friend here and a home. If a man like him couldn't find peace, if he was doomed to remain a prisoner for the rest of his life, it wasn't the fault of the castle.

Remus had said his prayers. He should be rid of his demons for a couple of hours. He bowed to the giant and turned on his heels. Snow crunched under his feet as he walked.

* * *

  
The walls were wide apart in the Great Hall, the ceiling was high. Remus nevertheless wished them gone. He inched closer to the big hole in the wall where what little they had left of their magic had proven powerless again and again.

"Some wounds need longer to heal than others," a voice behind him said. For a split second Remus wondered whether the castle deemed him worthy of a little chat. The light touch of a hand upon his shoulder disabused him of that notion.

"Minerva." Schooling his face to reveal nothing of his discomfiture, he turned around. "What happened to your voice?"

"It's nothing," the headmistress said in a hoarse whisper. Smiling a tight-lipped smile, she linked arms with Remus and steered him towards the staff table. "Let's see what the elves have come up with today."

Remus knew better than to resist. He let her guide him into the chair next to hers, allowed her to lift the lid off his plate and nodded when she commented on the food, her praise interrupted by several fits of coughing.

One had to be an inveterate optimist or experiencing a severe taste disorder to muster enthusiasm for the soggy cabbage and burnt potatoes that came with a grey mass that might or might not have been minced meat. Mixing the ingredients on his plate until they looked like one of Snape's foulest concoctions, Remus admired Minerva's self-discipline. Between generous bites she discussed the unreliability of the Quidditch brooms with Hooch and comforted Hagrid over the loss of the giant squid. As Kreacher shuffled into the hall to collect the plates, she thanked him for the meal and asked the small group of students that huddled in front of the fireplace for two volunteers to help with the washing-up.

After some minor commotion two students emerged from the group and followed Kreacher out of the hall. One of them must have been a former Slytherin, Remus inferred from the moth-eaten green-and-silver scarf he wore around his neck and half of his face.

"May I have a word with you in private?" Minerva asked before Remus could manage to quietly disappear. He nodded and braced himself for the onslaught of walls in the small corridor that led to Minerva's office.

"It's Severus," Minerva said once she had gone through the hospitality routine she appeared to believe was required of a Scotswoman and headmistress.

Sipping Firewhisky sprinkled with tea and feeling warm for the first time in what seemed like forever, Remus was unwilling to let himself be bothered by the name of his erstwhile adversary. "Snape?" he asked, closing his eyes to make the walls disappear. "He died in the final battle against Voldemort, didn't he?"

When the clatter of porcelain was the only answer he got, Remus was forced to open his eyes again. Minerva sat ramrod-straight in her wing-back chair. Her expression was weary as she pointed her wand at a puddle of spilt tea on her desk. With an almost imperceptible shake of the head, she let it slip back into its holster and took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse. Remembering his manners, Remus pulled a Muggle paper handkerchief out of his pocket. Their hands met on the desk.

"Thank you." Minerva straightened up again. "So you don't know? You haven't heard about Severus?"

Angry for no apparent reason, Remus shoved the wet hanky back into his pocket. "There wasn't much opportunity for gossip in the prison camp," he said, pushing the hair back from his forehead where a constant reminder of his curse was etched deep into his skin. He followed the lines of the intertwined Ws with his finger. "Besides, I barely remember anything from that time."

Minerva lowered her eyes. Her voice was hoarser than ever. "I'm sorry, Remus. So very sorry. Words can't express my -"

"Don't!" Remus interrupted her. The walls assaulted him. Breathing became a struggle. "It's not your fault," he managed to choke out after downing the rest of his Firewhisky. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on his breathing -- in and out, in and out -- and slowly, the walls retreated.

"I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

Ashamed of the pitiful sight he must have made, a grown man losing it like that, Remus quickly returned to the topic at hand. "Snape," he said in a voice that was too loud and didn't seem to belong to him at all. "Snape. What happened to him?"

Silence was more menacing even than walls. For some unknown reason Remus harboured the belief that silence, if it stretched too long, could make the whole world disappear. He knew of course that it was crazy, bordering on the insane, but since his escape from the prison camp he had turned to whistling, clicking his fingers or even talking to himself when the silence became too oppressive. He was about to give in to the urge to drum his fingers on Minerva's desk when the headmistress gave a sharp nod and finally broke the silence.

"Severus was on our side all the time," she said.

This wasn't news to Remus. Harry's speech during the duel with Voldemort was the last thing he remembered before his life became a big blur. It had to be one of fate's more bitter ironies that his most vivid memory was of something he had experienced while being left for dead on the floor. As always when he thought about the events of the Battle of Hogwarts, he wondered if it hadn't been the wolf's fight against the deadly curse that had triggered his memory loss.

Remus surfaced from his thoughts to renewed silence. Minerva looked at him over her wire-rimmed glasses as if she were expecting an answer. "You must understand," she interrupted Remus's stuttered attempts at finding something intelligent to say, "we had Harry's word on the matter. We believed Severus dead, why should we have doubted it?"

"It's a pity we can't ask Harry," Remus said. Glad to have found something to say, he repeated what had become _the_ catchphrase in this strange new world. In the few days since his return to Hogwarts he had heard it countless times. The wording might differ, but, from the meekest free elf over the students to the staff members, every inhabitant of the castle had made a habit out of invoking Harry's name at every possible opportunity. Except for Minerva perhaps. Remus couldn't recall whether he had heard her mention Harry before tonight.

"Yes, of course." Minerva's voice was terse. "We can't very well leave him to rot down there until Harry's return, though."

"Down there?" Remus's mind was reeling and he couldn't help an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Something was very wrong. Learning about the survival of his old enemy shouldn't upset him in any way. They had buried their childhood animosities a long time ago, hadn't they?

"Hagrid discovered Severus near the gates, two days before he found you at the very same spot. He brought him here, but Severus wouldn't talk to me. He went straight to the dungeons and hasn't resurfaced again ever since.

"Remus, he looked terrible. He could barely walk. Hunched over and haggard, he was the ghost of his former self. His eyes were so empty, like the eyes of a dead man." Minerva repeatedly shook her head. To Remus it seemed as if she wanted to rid herself of the dreadful picture she had painted, a picture that crept into Remus's mind and soul and made him shiver.

"I'm not quite sure whether it's good or bad news," Minerva continued, once again tight-lipped and stern, "but he seems to have retained more of his magic than any one of us. He protects parts of the dungeons with strong wards. So far we haven't been able to find a way around them and get inside."

* * *

  
The dungeons were in an even worse state of disrepair than the rest of the castle. The Slytherin dormitories had been flooded, and the lake was spreading everywhere. Remus waded knee-deep in water. His teeth were chattering from the cold, and he was too exhausted to cast so much as a Lumos. An eerie light emanated from the water. It didn't help him find his way and only multiplied the threat from the walls. Remus plodded onwards with his head hunched between his shoulders, as good as blind and not knowing what he actually wished to accomplish any more. When he slammed head first into a solid wall of heat, he needed a couple of seconds to realise that he had discovered Snape's wards.

There was no door he could have knocked upon, no bell he could have rung. The wards stretched invisible. They hissed in warning when Remus came too close, and green-and-silver tendrils appeared when he touched them, setting his skin on fire. Remus's hands were covered in blisters before he finally gave up. "Snape," he called. "Snape."

Silence was his only answer. Stomping up and down to drive the silence away, Remus found a modicum of comfort in the sloshing sound of the water. He wondered what he could tell Snape in order to lure him out of his lair. He couldn't think of a single good reason to go on with this life, and so he turned on his heels and hasted away, only slowing down after having reached his quarters on top the Astronomy Tower. There he undressed and, using the very last of his energy, cast a feeble heating charm before wrapping himself in a heap of blankets on the balcony. He fell asleep beneath a sky void of stars.


	2. Chapter 2

_The woman is stiff like a corpse, but her heart pounds against her ribs with so much force that Remus fears it will burst. Her ribs protrude through thin skin. Remus's hand is frozen, splayed across her chest. He can sense the swell of a breast, just outside the reach of his little finger, and her navel down there, not far from his thumb._

Between his legs, the pull of his cock -- Remus doesn't dare move. The slightest stir may be enough to destabilise the fragile balance between them, may cause him to turn into the monster he has fought all his life. He will not give in. They may throw as many naked women into his cell as they like, he will not become a torturer in their name. The thought is ridiculous; Remus can't stop a mad cackle from rising in his throat. He coughs, and the woman shifts beneath his hand. He's touching one of her breasts now. It's surprisingly big for someone as bony as she is. His cock twitches, and Remus quickly withdraws his hand. He crawls backwards until his back meets the wall. Pressing his lips together so as not to make a sound, he grips his cock. A wank is the only solution he can think of right now. It will take the edge off, and she won't be able to see him in the darkness after all.

"Don't be shy, wolf."

Her voice jars. It sounds like pebbles grinding together. Maybe they have tortured her already, Remus thinks. Giving her to the wolf may be the last solution. He wonders of what crimes they accuse her.

"Fuck me already." Her voice is much closer now, her breath hot and moist on the skin of Remus's hip. "Or else I'll never get out of here."

* * *

  
The stench was unbearable in Greenhouse Three. Hundreds of Mandrake corpses lay in heaps on top of the plant pots, their tiny arms outstretched in a desperate plea for magical sustenance. Rotten strands of Devil's Snare enfolded them in the last embrace of death. Remus's Bubble-Head Charm leaked like a sieve, and he cursed his lack of foresight in not having brought paper handkerchiefs. He should better get used to do things the Muggle way, he admonished himself, clamping a hand over his nose and mouth. There was no way of telling whether their magic would ever be fully restored.

The March sun looked just as wan and feeble as it had looked in February; however, it was reasonably warm outside. A veil of mist covered the lake, hiding the opposite shore from view. Remus started in surprise as the faint shape of a boat emerged in the distance. He wondered if it was real or a mirage. It might be nothing but a product of one of his nightmares, Charon, conducting a lost soul to the shores of Hades.

As the boat drew nearer, Remus recognised Hagrid as the oarsman. With him was a child. In comparison to the half-giant's enormous dimensions, it appeared to be small and fragile. The child stood upright in the bow, looking straight ahead and not acknowledging its companion in any way. Remus wasn't sure if it was a boy or a girl. It wore a faded pair of Muggle jeans and a white shirt that was several sizes too big. The child's hair was long and whitish blond, so fair that it almost matched the colour of the shirt. The whole child glowed.

It had to be a new student, Remus thought. Minerva had told him that nowadays new students only arrived at long and infrequent intervals and almost always alone. Remus didn't wait to greet the newcomer, but hurried back to the greenhouses instead. He had worked hard to clean out Greenhouse One and make it usable for their daily needs. He'd successfully grown new potatoes, onions and green beans. Lettuce, turnip greens and carrots should be ready for harvest, too. If he were lucky, he might even be able to pick some ripe strawberries. There would be a feast tonight.

* * *

  
Spring had accomplished what their ailing magic had failed to do: Everyone was back in good health, and Minerva's speech was loud and clear even without the help of Sonorus. Remus let the words of welcome wash over him like a gentle rain, remembering the day of his Sorting. He'd been so excited, both hopeful and fearful at the same time. The Sorting Hat on its stool presented a threat and a promise to all first-years, Remus had gathered from several conversations he'd overheard on the train. Only in his case that threat had had nothing to do with being sorted into the wrong house. _Wolf_, he'd imagined the Hat saying, _what do you want among humans? There's no place for the likes of you at Hogwarts!_ The Hat's voice had been thunderous in his imagination, just like the voice of Healer Baldwin when he locked him in his cage at St. Mungo's for another series of useless examinations.

Everything had turned out differently of course. Remus smiled as he recollected the small voice that had finally spoken to him. _Not a bad mind, I see, and plenty of loyalty. You would do well in either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. But wait, there's more ..._

And what had all their boisterous Gryffindor courage amounted to in the end? Betrayal, death, and still more death, Remus thought, brought back to the present by the silence that followed Minerva's speech. It was just as well that the Sorting Hat had disappeared along with the ghosts and the moving portraits.

The boy on the four-legged stool in front of the dais didn't seem to think so. "Where's the Hat?" he asked, disappointment colouring his voice. Remus couldn't help but admire his gall. Even without the floating candles and the enchanted ceiling, the Great Hall should be awe-inspiring enough to silence an eleven-year-old. Remus eyed the hole in the wall where tendrils of ivy had started their own work of renovation, creeping in every direction. Soon it would be closed, even without the help of magic. Remus longed to destroy the vines with his bare hands. Like the prince in the fairytale, he wanted to break through, only in the reverse direction, to freedom.

Minerva rose from her seat and stepped down from the dais. "Different times call for different rituals," she said with a voice as kind as it was strict. The boy blushed. She waved her wand, and a velvet bundle unrolled itself on one of the long tables. Remus wondered how much energy this display of magic had cost her.

If Minerva was exhausted, she didn't show it. Touching the fabric with reverent fingers, she walked slowly along the table. The black velvet cloth was embroidered with silver runes. It held several dozen wands in special sheaths attached to it. Some of the wands were worn with age while others still looked like new. Remus didn't examine them too closely; he didn't want to know whether Dora's was among them.

"This is the legacy our ancestors have left us. By choosing one of their wands, you will become part of our community. Choose wisely. Remember, you have to be accepted."

Following Minerva's invitation, the boy stood and walked over to the table. The second-hand robes they had given him were several sizes too big and made him look less like a creature from another world and more like a real, if tiny, wizard. After only a quick look he took an ebony wand that was at least thirteen inches long. A ripple of whispers went through the hall as he dropped it again immediately. "Ouch!"

Minerva examined his hand and raised an eyebrow. Remus nearly expected her to berate him for being a crybaby, but she didn't say a word and only pointed at the collection of wands on the table. This time the boy waited much longer to decide. He finally chose a short wand made of oak, waving it with a flourish. Nothing happened. The boy blushed and put it back with an awkward shrug of his shoulders, all his poise gone for the moment. Minerva talked to him in a low voice, favouring him with an encouraging smile.

All whispers subsided. The Great Hall was completely silent as the boy chose for the third time. Remus had to pull himself together so as not to click his fingers or whistle an anxious tune. Just when he thought the silence couldn't become more excruciating, the boy made his choice. He waved a medium-sized hawthorn wand, and silver sparks rose to the ceiling. The entire hall broke out in applause.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts community of witches and wizards, Mr Malfoy."

Remus wondered how he could have missed it; the family resemblance was striking. He was sure that Lucius didn't have another son. Most probably the boy was a cousin from the continent.

Gregory Goyle, still wearing his moth-eaten Slytherin scarf, went out of his way to greet Malfoy. He, who used to keep himself in the background and never spoke a word, had awakened all of a sudden. Frightening his neighbours with his whomping arms, he made room for Malfoy on the bench next to him. Goyle's red-faced excitement was clownish, terrifying and strangely endearing at the same time.

In the meantime, Minerva carefully rolled the velvet cloth back up and left the hall, hiding the treasure of the wizarding world until it was needed again. Remus noticed that she didn't use magic this time.

* * *

  
Like everything at Hogwarts, the kitchens had undergone a most drastic change. Remus was early today, the Welcome Feast having ended about an hour before their usual dinner time. Waiting for Kreacher, he compared the happy house-elves of his student days, always eager to spoil a hungry Marauder rotten, to the miserable free elves of today. Hardly an improvement to the tea towels of yore, their dirty grey robes matched the colour of their skin. Ashen creatures, the elves went about their work with the exhausted shuffle and dull stare of the hopeless.

_This is what freedom looks like!_ Remus thought, but he instantly regretted his cynicism. _This is what we did to them,_ he corrected himself. After centuries of abuse of the elves, the wizarding world was responsible for their welfare, but instead of helping them to prosper, to find their own way in a changing world, all it had to offer were low wages, shoddy garments, and a place to sleep in a rotten castle, while the elves still bore the brunt of the work.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Remus said as the elf placed Snape's dinner in front of him. The orange of the carrots and the green beans were the only spots of colour in the dreary underworld of the kitchens, and Remus couldn't help but feel a bit proud of his gardening success. "Things will change for the better soon, you'll see."

"Everything will change for the better. As soon as Master Harry returns. Yes, yes. As soon as Master Harry returns," Kreacher mumbled and shuffled away. Remus didn't have the heart to correct his use of 'Master.' He wondered what would become of them all. Where _was_ Harry, and what was he doing?

* * *

  
The dungeons had been made to dry for several weeks now, and Remus found he missed the sloshing of the water. It had calmed him, made him forget the closeness of the walls. Snape was a mystery to Remus. If he could still perform such incredible magic like sealing the dormitory walls and draining the dungeons, why was he hiding? Minerva had told him that Snape's experiences during and after the war had damaged him, but wasn't that true for all of them? Wasn't company necessary to recover? Remus doubted that isolation could do anything but harm. Besides, depriving the community of something so valuable as magical powers was highly selfish. Selfishness, of course, was a typical Slytherin trait. What else could be expected from someone like Snape? "Selfish, stubborn, supercilious, self-conceited, stuck-up, Slytherin, Snape," Remus muttered, too preoccupied to notice a change in his surroundings. Only after placing Snape's dinner on a table in the vicinity of the wards, he realised that the torches in the corridor leading to the dormitories were lit.

"Snape," he called and quickly hid behind the next corner. What exactly he was trying to achieve he couldn't have said, but it seemed important to him to at least catch a glimpse of Snape.

"What are you doing here?" a high voice said. "Are you a Slytherin, too, Professor?"

Remus turned around to find the Malfoy boy staring up at him. "Are you?" Malfoy repeated, wrinkling his nose like a curious rodent.

"Hogwarts isn't any longer divided. The different houses have ceased to exist," Remus said. "There are no Slytherins any more." Remus wondered if it was true. Had he stopped being a Gryffindor?

"The other professor _is_ a Slytherin," Malfoy insisted.

"You met Snape?" Remus couldn't believe it. On the other hand, that would be just like Snape. Of course he would come out of his hiding in order to indoctrinate the first-years, and within the first twelve hours of their stay, too. The bastard!

"Gregory told me about him. He can hear him walking around at night, but he's only ever seen him from far away. He says the professor is hiding until his Slytherins are back, and that I mustn't be afraid of him, that he isn't a ghost. As if I would! I'm not even afraid of real ghosts."

Remus nodded absent-mindedly. The walls were smothering him, and he longed for the open sky and fresh air to breathe. So Snape hadn't come out of his hiding after all. He was unsure what to think about it.

"Bye, Professor. I have to go. Gregory wants to show me where I sleep."

Remus doubted that Goyle would show Malfoy the new dormitories for all students, located on the seventh floor where the Room of Requirement used to be found. Before he could tell him about them, the boy was gone. Remus sighed. He needed to talk to Minerva about Goyle.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Remus turned to go. His feet were like lead, and his heart hammered against his ribcage -- another prisoner trying to break free. The walls whispered of cold stone and of darkness -- or was it the silence that mocked him? Walls, dungeons, Hogwarts -- did they even exist?

To remind himself that the world around him was real, Remus intoned the school song, "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts," and step by step, he made his way to the stairs.

"Professor, wait!"

Remus froze at the bottom of the stairs. His instincts told him to run, but he managed to get a grip on himself and turn around.

Malfoy was standing in front of him, panting heavily and clutching something in his hand. His eyes were wide, and he was even paler than usual. Remus wondered what had frightened the boy. "What happened?" he asked.

"Professor Snape." Malfoy nervously turned his head, but the corridor behind him was empty.

"Did you see him?"

The boy nodded. "He ... he doesn't look like a man at all. And his voice ... it's like the voice of a ghost. No, like that of a dead person."

"What did he say?"

"He told me to give you this." Malfoy stretched out his hand.

"Thank you." Remus took the vial Malfoy offered him, wondering what was going on. "Did he say anything else?"

"He was really angry at you for being so early today. He said that, had you only been punctual, the potion would have been waiting for you." Malfoy seemed to have somewhat recovered from the shock of meeting Snape. A small grin flit across his face. "He called you a complete dunderhead, a full-grown idiot who would forget his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders.

"Sorry about that, sir."

Malfoy didn't look particularly sorry, and Remus smiled. For the first time tonight, the walls retreated. "That's all right. I'm glad to hear that Professor Snape is on the road to recovery."

"What kind of potion is it?" Malfoy asked, eyeing the vial in Remus's hand. He seemed honestly curious, and Remus found himself looking forward to teaching him.

Remembering Slughorn's warnings about unknown potions, Remus opened the vial and took a cautious sniff at the stopper. He sat down on the stairs, unable to believe it. He smelled again, inhaling deeply from the vial.

Remus buried his face in his hands. It couldn't be true. It simply couldn't be true. He couldn't have forgotten ... He counted the days, counted again, then remembered the date on the moon charts. It _was_ true.

But how? Why? Why didn't he feel the pull of the waxing moon? Where was the wolf, who should have alerted him of his presence days ago? Remus listened inside himself. Silence. He started to hum Moony's favourite tune, the battle song of the Marauders. There was no answer.

Remus reminded himself to breathe -- in and out, in and out. He had to stay calm. He didn't know the time of the moonrise, but it could happen any time now. _Think clearly!_ he barked at himself. First the Wolfsbane. Tilting his head back, he gulped it down. It was perfect. That Snape of all people would think of him, provide him with the invaluable potion without even being asked, amazed Remus. He wasn't the selfish Slytherin bastard after all. But there was time to reflect on that later, now he had to hurry. Struggling to his feet, he turned to Malfoy to return the vial, but the boy had disappeared again. _Later!_ Remus reminded himself and hastened up the stairs.

From deep down in the dungeons, he could hear Goyle shouting. His voice had a desperate edge to it, repeating one name over and over again.

"Scorpius!"


End file.
